Rocky Marciano was anything but antipasto when he dismantled Joe Louis at Madison Square Garden on October 26, 1951?
?You may have the universe if I may have Italy.??Giuseppe Verdi
I should have remembered the words of the great A.J. Liebling: ?On the day after my first World Series ended, I returned, chastened, to the Sweet Science, like an errant husband who has had no fun.?
I sure as hell didn?t have any fun watching Super Bowl XLVIII, and the commercials were even worse than the game. My mind wandered like a drunk trying to walk a straight line. Drunk?punch-drunk?boxing?the sport?s golden age?king of the divisions?lord of the heavyweights. Before John Stamos? soft-porn yogurt ad reached its climax (not that he did), Joe Louis appeared before me in a straw boater with a red and black ribbon, gently wagging an admonitory finger.
Would ?The Brown Bomber? forgive my tawdry affair with a rival sport if I looked up his record, reveling in his 66 wins, 52 by knockout? He must have, for he took his leave, boater and all. Now able to give my full attention to the Bomber?s ring accomplishments, I noticed something that had previously escaped my attention?the number of defeated opponents who were Italian or of Italian extraction: Charley Massera, Patsy Perroni, Primo Carnera, Al Ettore, Nathan Mann, Tony Galento, Gus Dorazio, Tony Musto, Lou Nova, and Tami Mauriello. Ten in all, nine by KO or TKO, or about 14% of his 69 bouts. I almost threw Stanley Poreda into the mix, but turns out he?s Polish.
Actually, there were indeed 11, and, no, I?m not illicitly counting ?The Polish Giant.? What?s all this palaver about revenge being a dish best served cold? ?Cause the 11th and final Eyetie was none other than Rocky Marciano, who was anything but antipasto when he dismantled Louis at Madison Square Garden on October 26, 1951, bringing to a close the former champ?s outstanding career by knocking him through the ropes in the eighth.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Italians. No, you don?t fool around with these guys. You won?t catch me heading over to Arthur Avenue unless in bowling shirt and black leather jacket, making vigorous hand gestures and irrelevant but seemingly meaningful references to ?mascarpone? with an occasional ?due insalata verde? thrown in for good measure. Faded photographs of the Rock and Bruno Sammartino and Pope Pius XII hang in every Umberto?s on every corner of every block. I remember a framed quote of Pope John XXIII: ?Italians come to ruin generally in three ways, women, gambling, and farming. My family chose the slowest one.? You go in for your gabagool and you say things like, ?Ah, Rocky! Dove posso trovare il bagno? Arrivederci, Roma!? Then you get your gabagool, your soppressata, your mortadella, your prosciutto. Capeesh? Molto bene!
The lady in my life is half Italian. You got your drama over here. Your pretend swooning, your dishes thrown, your knives pulled, reminders of large male relatives getting out soon. ?You look at woman? I kill her. Then I kill you. Then I kill myself. Then I set fire to the city. And I don?t make the spaghetti with the meatballs. Let her make the spaghetti with the meatballs. Puttana! Faccia brutta! Ha, she has the harelip and the gorgonzola [gonorrhea]!? It?s like being with Theda Bara. And she was Jewish. Imagine if she?d been Italian.
Come back, Joe, and let me be your consigliere, let me advise you against taking on the Italians. You may be capo di tutti capi when it comes to the heavies, but?fuggedaboudit!
Oh, and get me one of them boaters, will ya? It?s snazzy with that ribbon.
